Love isn’t a Romantic Story
by Gypsy Feet
Summary: Her name was Allison Cameron. She had gone out for a jog. His name was Gregory House. He was just there. xOneshotx


**Love isn't a Romantic Story**

**By: **Emmy

**Summary: **Her name was Allison Cameron. She had gone out for a jog. His name was Gregory House. He was just there. xOneshotx

**A/N:** Well. This was fun. In a once off, I might just try writing a story like _this_ today, kind of way. It was also a little hard. I understand that this is a weird way of writing a story. Even by my standards. But I hope you enjoy it.

_008. I'm finding my own words, my own little stage;  
my own epic drama, my own scripted page_

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**Setting and Characters' Introduction: when and where the story takes place; the main character (protagonist) and the character in conflict with protagonist (antagonist).**

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It was in a park. Just off the path. Partially beneath an Oak tree. A playground was somewhere nearby because the excited screams of little children were audible. The main road was somewhere off to the left. A pond with four ducks and lots of rubbish was a little to the right. There was a park bench about five feet away. The sky was blue with three small clouds. There was a light breeze and it was warm.

It happened on a Saturday. It was late afternoon. Early Autumn. The sun was dipping towards the horizon. The light had adapted that soft golden colour. The streetlights were just being turned on. The scent of an early dinner was drifting through the air.

Her name was Allison Cameron. She had gone out for a jog. She was a young widow. Her socks didn't match. She worked at the local hospital. She ate Chinese every Thursday and Italian on Mondays. Her favourite top was currently in the wash. She liked U2 and Imogen Heap. She was pretty and too skinny and very, very tired. Her favourite ice-cream flavour was chocolate fudge.

His name was Gregory House. He was just there. He had a limp. His eyes were blue. He was blunt and rude and usually right. He liked Sherlock Holmes and bad soaps. His best friend was an oncologist. He had calluses on his hand from using his cane. He had a rip in his jeans. His Vicodin was running out again. He liked good coffee and fries. His convertible had a scratch on the bumper from the time he tried to drive it drunk. He was fascinated by Allison Cameron.

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**Conflict: the problem, dilemma, decision, choice, source of tension experienced by the protagonist/s.**

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Allison Cameron was in love with Gregory House. It was entirely by accident. It did not happen in that perfect, first glance, sweet smile, coffee shop acquaintances way that romantic movies and stories painted it. She didn't wake up one morning and realise in a sudden, enlightening moment that he was The One. There had been no logic to it. No way to define the exact moment when it happened. Allison Cameron was simply In Love with Gregory House.

This would be a perfect place for a happy ending. Except Gregory House didn't appreciate the circumstances. He was comfortable in his title as All Round Ass. He was not sweet to poor little Allison. He didn't buy her chocolates or roses. He didn't take her to the movies. He never wrote her poetry or love songs. They never walked along a beach at sunset. They didn't call each other Cupcake or Sweetheart or Darling.

Perhaps this means that this is a tale of unrequited love. But Allison Cameron did not give in to despair. Because there was one flaw in Gregory House's All Round Ass demeanour. It was very hard to notice. Barely visible to the naked eye. Allison Cameron had glimpsed it. Several times. There were moments when Gregory House stopped being an All Round Ass. He might smile a little. He might help someone when no one else dared. But most likely, he would have A Moment with Allison Cameron.

A Moment was a time when Allison Cameron and Gregory House forgot that they were Colleagues. When they forgot that he was meant to be ordering her around. When they forgot that they were meant to be hating each other. In place of their strict roles they were left with a blurred honesty. Not always did these meetings leave a smile on Allison Cameron's face. Sometimes they were brutal in all the truth that was exposed. But always, _always_, they left Allison Cameron with a little bit of hope.

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**Main Events: the series of occurrences which make up the plot of the story.**

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Allison Cameron had been going for a jog. It was long and tiring and her lungs and legs were burning. There was a drop of sweat gliding down her back and her breath came in short bursts. Her hair was a little damp and her iPod was playing Dani California. She was halfway to deciding to turn around and go home before she fell to pieces with exhaustion.

He was the last person in the world she expected to see. But there he was. Leaning his back and head against the trunk of an Oak. She slowed to a walk and tugged an earpiece out in anticipation of a conversation. He slowly ambled towards her and stopped about halfway with an eyebrow raised. Allison Cameron walked a little closer but kept her distance. It was wide and blunt and awkward. She kicked her legs a little and walked on the spot to keep them warmed up. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it again and followed a cyclist with his eyes.

"What are you doing here?"

It's said with level bluntness and maybe a little curiosity. She watches carefully as he takes a deep breath and blows it through his teeth, pulling a funny face at the sky, before returning his gaze to hers. He shrugs a little and twirls his cane once in his fingers before setting it back on the ground and leaning on it heavily.

"And here I was, thinking I lived in a free country."

She smiles a little at that, not because it's especially funny, but because she could have guessed that he'd say that if she had wanted to. She marvels briefly at how awkward he is in the silence and watches as Gregory House casts about for something to end it. Dani California switches to Good Riddance.

"What kind of person goes for an hour long jog on their _day off_?"

Allison Cameron thinks that maybe there's a little jealousy in his voice. From what she can tell from the bits and pieces of his past that she's found out, she imagines that _he_ probably would. She doesn't advertise this little opinion, instead she lifts an eyebrow and shrugs quietly. When he still doesn't move or lose interest in the conversation she gives up and begins to stretch. She isn't going to jog on the spot like one of those aerobics ladies with him staring at her like _that_. The staring doesn't stop, but it's accompanied by a smirk when she bends to stretch her calf muscles.

"What do you want, House?"

The wording is blunt, but her voice is soft, shaded in exhaustion. He stops fiddling then, it's easy to imagine that he's a statue. And just like that the A Moment progresses to Something More.

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**Climax: an event which brings the suspense/situation to a major turning point.**

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He stares at her then, with a frightening intensity. All of a sudden, his limbs jumble into animation again, and he's standing there. Right in front of her. He's still staring, his chin touching his chest in order to accommodate the height difference. His free hand floats up somewhere near her face. And for the first time, Allison Cameron thinks Gregory House is going to kiss her.

"Why did you marry him?"

And just like that Allison Cameron reverts back to hating him. Because he _can't_ do That to her. His hand retreats back to his pocket and she hears the _pop rattle_ of Vicodin. When he swallows it his Adams apple bulges for a second. She's distantly aware that she's still staring up at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. He notices too, because he pulls an exaggerated impression back at her. So she shifts her attention to her iPod and changes the song to Iris. She's very meticulous and once done she focuses on the label on his top. She's very careful _not_ to think about Him or the tears blurring her vision.

Her arms prickle with a sudden awareness of the dropping temperature. In her mind she tells herself that she should be passed this stage. She should be able to make it through even a quick mentioning of Him without getting so upset. It doesn't take away the ache in her throat so she tries to swallow it away. Breathes in and out deeply twice. Watches a mother walking a pram with twins in it amble past. And turns on her heel.

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**Resolution: when the conflict is solved at the end of the story.**

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He stops her with a hand around her wrist. She closes her eyes and, when that causes a tear to track down her cheek, scrubs at them with her free hand. She only turns around when he tugs once. There are a million and one angry retorts on the tip of her tongue that die away with his steady gaze. He isn't sorry. That much she knows for certain. But a part of her realises that she's forgiven him already.

She knows him well enough to be able to say that it was to avoid answering her question. Another part of her knows that he's painfully curious about things he doesn't entirely understand. He wants to know things. He likes the power that comes with knowledge. He likes knowing the what makes people tick. That's not why she forgives him.

She forgives him because of how lost he looked the second before he spoke. She forgives him because he was almost truthful. Because his almost truth involved her. Because she's used to being hurt now. Because she was half expecting it anyway.

"See you Monday."

She knows she's mumbled it. She knows she's weak for not hating him still. She knows he'll take this as an invitation to ask any old time. But she thinks maybe he needs to keep asking. Because a small part of her suspects she'll tell him. Everything. And then maybe things might change.

When he let's go of her wrist it's slowly and gently. An almost caress. He nods and turns around, pacing off into the growing shadows. When she swivels to retrace her steps all the way home she plays Head Over Feet on repeat the entire time.

She's still humming it when she turns up on Monday morning.

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**The End: when the story has concluded.**

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